As To Console
by Nynaeve1723
Summary: As Jordan faces challenges in her personal life, how will she deal with them. Starts after Judgment Day and has its own timeline from there. Starts JdJ, does not end that way. Posted COMPLETE.
1. Instrument

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**NOTES (Please read):** I've changed J.D.'s background slightly – mostly because we don't know all that much and I needed to flesh him out a bit. Also changed is the timeline of Jordan and J.D.'s involvement and his employment. I actually started this after _Judgment Day_ and wanted to have it complete before posting. It took a lot longer than I'd ever planned, partly due to a computer glitch, but mostly due to some real life complications.

**This _is_ a Jordan/J.D. fic though it _won't_ end that way, but die-hard, rabid W/J shippers probably don't want to read it unless you really trust me. (Which is my hopefully polite way of saying "no flames" if you simply don't like the pairing).**

I also put Jordan's birthday back in September.

**Part One: Instrument**

Jordan crept around in the darkness, finding her clothes by feel more than anything. She nudged open the bathroom door, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold tiles, and then clicked the door shut with a soft _snick_. Letting out a long breath, she rested against the wall for a moment before switching on the light. In several quick motions she tugged on underwear and jeans and one shoe. "Damn," she murmured. Sighing, she moved on to her bra and top. A glance in the mirror made her grimace at the smeared make-up and tangled hair. She rested her forehead in one hand. After another deep sigh, she groaned.

"Looking for this?"

Jordan jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She whirled to find J.D. Pollack holding up her missing shoe, smirking at her. She was grateful he'd at least slipped on a pair of running shorts. "Um – uh – uh – yeah." She advanced tentatively and took the dangling sneaker. "Thanks." She didn't meet his gaze.

"It's the middle of the night, Jordan."

Faint smudges of pink decorated her cheeks. "You know," she glanced up and gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Work."

He gave an exaggerated backward look at his bedside clock. "At 2:30 in the morning?"

"I need – uh – I need to get home, shower, change, get coffee."

His expression was wry. "That's either a very long shower, love, or it takes you far too long to choose your outfit." He ran his eyes up and down her body, making her shift uncomfortably. "And you'd look good in anything you put on, so…."

"I just –" She bit her lip.

"Too fast?" He advanced toward her, observing with a casual eye how she seemed to shrink against the counter top, but at the same time her breathing became a bit shallower and he could see the rapid fluttering of her pulse in her neck. He kissed her in a way that made her body respond and subdued her natural inclination to flee with vague promises of future hook-ups that would never happen. When he pulled away, she still gave him a sharp look, however. He smiled lazily at her. "You call me. If you want to, Jordan. Whenever."

"You – uh – shouldn't wait – I mean – I don't know-"

He chuckled. "I'm not going to wait on you, darling." He cocked one eyebrow. "Not that it wouldn't be worth it again. I just don't think either of us is looking for those kinds of strings."

Mutely, Jordan nodded. "Um – yeah, right. Yeah. Okay." She smiled, a glittery, false smile and then ducked past him. He ambled behind her as she made her way to the door. Jordan barely gave him a backward glance as she scurried into the hallway of his apartment building. She wrestled herself into her jacket and hurried down the corridor.

XXXXX

Jordan carried a pathology report in one hand. "Lily! Seen Nige?"

"He's in Trace," the grief counselor told her. "Uh – So is…."

Jordan waved a hand in thanks and strode down the morgue hallway, leaving Lily to sigh heavily. The M.E. had to admit that, despite the fact she'd never gotten back to sleep last night, or this morning more accurately, she was in a good mood. She couldn't respect how Pollack used his journalistic skills for the most part, but she recognized a lot of things in him with which she herself had struggled – still struggled. It turned out he had a good sense of humor and a quick mind and, when he left behind meth addicts who microwaved parrots, he was an interesting person who could make intelligent conversation. Jordan's shoulders twitched involuntarily at the memory of a few other things he did rather well.

She pushed open the door to Trace and damn near let it shut again while she turned and walked back down the hall. Bug was showing Woody some piece of evidence. From vague attempts at civility to curt, terse exchanges, Jordan and the detective had descended into ignoring each other. She knew from the others that Woody was, at last, getting some psychological help and she was glad for him. He would never be the same man he'd been before Riggs, before what he took as her pity, but she hoped he could find some peace and let himself heal. If part of the price of that was their friendship… well, then, she still loved him enough to make that sacrifice. But in the back of her mind, she was sorting what would go into the inevitable suitcases.

Nigel looked up and a broad grin crossed his face. His voice came out in hearty tones. "And how was your date last night?"

Jordan glared at him.

"Come on, Jordan, enquiring minds want to know."

Her jaw clenched. "Enquiring minds – specifically mine – _need_ an analysis of the substance we found on Claire Walker's feet yesterday." She handed him the report. "Please?"

Chastened – momentarily – the Brit nodded.

"Thanks." Jordan turned and walked out, her heart rate elevated. She chided herself for reacting like a schoolgirl – mortified that Nigel had said a word about her date in front of Woody, but also pleased if the way the detective's shoulders had tensed and how his fingers had tightened on the back of Bug's chair meant he might be jealous. She ground her teeth as she entered her own office and closed the door, a little more forcefully than necessary as it bounced halfway open. She sat down anyway. For a long moment, she stared at the phone on her desk. Pollack had left it up to her. She could call _him_. If she wanted to. She reached for the phone and then changed her mind. And changed it again. Then drew her hand back once more. And extended it again.

Standing in the doorway, Garret cleared his throat. "Afraid it might bite?"

Jordan flushed. With good humor, she grinned. "No. I was thinking of calling someone."

"I got that."

"Was there something…?"

Garret smiled. "I thought you'd want to know – the D.A.'s office just called. The Ensey case?"

"They have a verdict?" Her eyes shone.

He nodded. "Guilty."

"Good. Good!"

"The A.D.A said your testimony really clinched the case." His smile broadened. "Good job."

"Thanks."

"I'll – uh – I'll let you get back to thinking about your phone call."

She flicked up her eyebrows and nodded.

In Trace, Woody kept glancing over at Nigel. Each time he did so, Bug rolled his eyes. Finally, Dr. Vijay burst out, "Oh, for the love of Buddha! She went out with a reporter."

Woody's eyes widened. "A reporter."

Bug sat back in his chair. "J.D. Pollack."

"That guy from that – that tabloid?" Woody was awfully indignant over the love life of a woman for whom, by all external indications, he had lost all feeling. "But – But…."

"He's a lovely chap," Nigel said enthusiastically.

Bug's jaw dropped open as he thought of the way Nigel had spent yesterday muttering about bottom-feeders who weren't fit to be in the same room with Jordan, not to mention the Brit's many other previous diatribes about the reporter that had blistered Bug's ears over the past few weeks. Bug sighed softly. He let it go.

Woody didn't. "He writes garbage!"

"No, no," Nige corrected. "He writes human interest stories that have certain unique qualities about them."

The detective's face creased in disgust. Bug brought the "repartee" to an end by recalling Woody's attention to the entomological evidence that could help Woody nab a killer.

XXXXX

Jordan came out of Autopsy One massaging her right shoulder and grimacing at various other muscle aches. A small grin twitched up the corners of her mouth when she thought about one way to work out the… kinks? Soreness? Stiffness? Somehow those phrases weren't helping her focus on the fact she still had reports to put together. Or that she'd shut down J.D. Pollack by not calling him in ten days. She gave herself a mental shake as she ducked into the break room to grab yet another cup of coffee.

Lily looked up and smiled. "Long day."

"And about to get longer," Jordan agreed. She held up her mug and pondered it. "Think we could Garret to just install a system for caffeine drips."

Lily chuckled. "Oh, I have one thing that ought to brighten your day." Jordan raised an eyebrow in reply since she was sipping her drink. "I put them in your office."

Jordan lowered the mug. "Put _what_ in my office?"

"You'll see." Lily shrugged innocently. With a smile, she watched her friend hasten out of the room and listened to the clack of heels on the hall floor. Lily hadn't read the card, but she was certain Jordan's surprise was from Woody. A complete reconciliation was a bit too much to hope for just yet, but a truce didn't seem unreasonable. He'd been mentioning Jordan every time he came to the morgue – how was she? Was she really dating that reporter? He'd even irritated Bug a time or two by commenting on some procedure Jordan did slightly differently. He had to have come to at least a few of his senses.

The M.E. opened her door to find a strikingly nice arrangement of flowers on her desk. Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise. Blush roses mingled with peach alstroemeria, pink Gerber daisies, white larkspur and some greenery that Jordan couldn't name. She inhaled sharply. Almost hidden among the beautiful floral display was a white envelope. She opened it, and her smile faltered for a moment. Then she decided _What the hell_? _Life's short._

She sat down at her desk and picked up the phone. When he answered, she said, smiling, teasingly, "Subtle."

"Well, you know…." J.D. paused. "Do you like them?"

She laughed. "Like them? They're gorgeous!"

"Good, just like the woman."

Jordan leaned back in her chair. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't call. I've been really busy at work and-"

"Jordan? You don't have to make excuses."

"Who says it's an excuse?"

He chuckled into the phone. "It isn't?"

She thought of the long days she'd put in, the meticulous reports and timely paperwork given to Garret. "All right. Maybe. A little one." She tapped the card on her desk. "The flowers are nice. They really are. It's been a while."

"Well, that's wrong, then. I'd be willing to wager it's been too long since you've had a decent meal, as well."

She thought of the variety of take-out, leftovers and fast-food she'd eaten lately. "Define decent," she challenged.

He did. She was glad he wasn't there to see her mouth gaping open. "I'll pick you up at your place at eight."

"Tonight?"

"Absolutely."

"But – they're booked – well, really far ahead."

She could imagine his casual shrug. "Might be I know a few people."

"How do you know I'll say _yes_?" She was now twirling a lock of hair around one finger.

"Oh, I can see a girl turning down dinner with me, but a dinner at one of Boston's best restaurants?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Okay."

"Beautiful. Eight o'clock then."

XXXXX

Their dinner exceeded Jordan's expectations, an impressive feat given the hype the place got. J.D. had asked her what kinds of foods she liked. She'd replied with a smile and a list of pizza, take-out and pasta. "Come on, Pollack, I'm a single woman who works long hours cutting up dead bodies-"

"-And being Crusader Rabbit." He had grinned slyly at her.

She had taken a breath. "And being Crusader Rabbit. I don't usually have time – or money - to appreciate the – uh – finer things."

"Well tonight, Doc, I promise, you'll have the time and money is, definitely, not your concern."

"Yeah?"

"You'd be surprised what an article about a bit of toast that looks like Moses can bring in."

Jordan had shaken her head at him, but grinned anyway.

Now, after a meal specially prepared for them by the chef himself and a bottle of wine that might well have cost more than her rent, Jordan had to admit that she couldn't think of a better meal.

They stood waiting for the valet to bring Pollack's car around. He studied her face, a smile playing along his mouth. J.D. slid an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, "Satisfied, Doc?"

She turned her head to gaze up at him, her warm eyes alight with a combination of laughter, physical response and uncertainty. After a moment, she replied, her voice catching just enough for him to hear it, "Dinner was wonderful."

"Didn't answer my question."

She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she whispered in his ear, "For now."

His grin broadened, and he made a motion as if doffing an imaginary cap to her.

XXXXX

They dated three or four times a week for a few weeks. Jordan wasn't looking for a relationship, not in the long term, at least, but she also found she wanted to mean a bit more to some guy than just this random chick he slept with the night before. And she wanted "some guy" to be more than that to her. She suspected every shrink she'd ever seen would be proud of her.

Pollack pushed as far as he could, but never past the boundaries she'd set up. He could have had other women without the effort – well, probably, he admitted only to himself – but he liked the way everyone watched Jordan when they went anywhere together. He liked the way she looked, what she wore, how she carried herself and how she moved. He also liked her intelligence and sarcasm and her passion for helping people. It used to be he tried to help people, too. Times had changed, but he had the feeling that being around Jordan Cavanaugh could - just maybe – rekindle that spark. Of course, in the meantime, she was a Boston M.E. and a tabloid hack could probably get himself some pretty good stories. That last thought always made him smile wryly. Jordan had no illusions about him, and he was still _persona non grata_ around the Morgue. She also refused to talk about her cases.

He was a little surprised when she called him to cancel a date. The cancellation didn't surprise him – her work came first; he was a pleasant enough distraction, but cases motivated her more.

"It's just been a long day. Everyone's pretty stressed," she explained.

"Un-huh. It's all right-"

"We're all heading over to this place… blow off a little steam. You know." He could picture her biting her lip as she hesitated. "Why don't you meet us there?"

And _that_ was what rendered him speechless – briefly. "This place won't have my mug shot, as you called it?"

She chuckled. "No."

His voice grew serious. "You sure, love?"

"Yeah." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah."

"Where and when, then?"

She told him and didn't let herself think about having to explain his presence to everyone else until she was in her car. As it turned out, everyone got along tolerably well. J.D. and Bug discovered a mutual interest in – _interest_ being a mild term – cricket and 'the Ashes' test for the coming year was hotly debated to the confusion of the others. It also turned out Pollack knew a thing or two about jazz which broke the ice with Garret. Jordan had just about relaxed, congratulating herself mentally on a successful fusion of her apparent social life and her professional life, when Lily's eyes darkened. With a barely noticeable twist of her head, Jordan saw the source of Lily's concern. She smothered an exasperated sigh.

Pollack caught the sound however and quickly noticed Woody as well. He dipped his mouth down to murmur in Jordan's ear. "Do you want to get out of here?"

She considered it for a moment. Garret's barked suggestion to get over whatever was bothering Woody and her hadn't had much effect. She'd tried but, despite the rumor he was finally getting some couch time with a shrink, he still seemed to enjoy scoring points off of her any way he could. Realizing who was with him, Jordan started to wonder about those "couch time" rumors.

Before she could answer JD, Woody was sauntering over, Lu Simmons' hand firmly clasped in his. "The gang's all here," he said, his voice falsely hearty, his eyes chips of anger as they swept over Jordan and her date. Pollack countered the gaze by slipping his arm around Jordan's shoulders. Woody's mouth quirked down. "We'd join you, but it already looks a little crowded."

"Actually," Jordan pushed her chair back, keeping her voice calm and low, devoid of emotion. "We were just leaving."

No one mentioned the fact Pollack had been in the middle of a story about diving in the Great Barrier Reef. Instead, good-nights were offered and wordless looks of consolation passed. Once outside, Jordan began to tremble. She handed Pollack her keys. "Unless you mind…?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, love. I was going to catch a cab back to my place anyway." He wrapped his arm around her waist, let her rest against him for a moment. "Are you all right?"

She shrugged. "I will be." She said nothing else until they neared her apartment. "I shouldn't let him get to me."

"You still care about him." Pollack stared ahead as he said it.

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe. Mostly I'm angry at him these days. For being angry with me. I didn't _do_ anything." She sighed. "Which was part of the problem, I guess." Her throat constricted painfully with the tears she refused to shed.

Pollack pulled into a parking space and insisted on walking her up. To Jordan's mild surprise and definite relief, he didn't make even the slightest play for her. Instead he held her in a close embrace, one hand rubbing her back and shoulders. He kissed her cheek. "Call me if you can't sleep, Cavanaugh."

She nodded. "Thanks."

His hand trailed along her face. "Any time, love."

XXXXX

"Coffee?" Lily's smile brightened Jordan's office doorway.

"I'm fine, Lily," Jordan assured her. "But thanks, I'll take the coffee."

The grief counselor chuckled. "Pretty obvious, huh?"

Jordan shrugged. "I appreciate the concern." She took the paper cup from her friend and raised it in a silent toast. "And the caffeine."

Lily hesitated a moment and then gestured to the chair, her brows raised in question.

"Yeah, yeah, sit," Jordan replied in between draughts of scalding espresso. "How was it? After I – uh – we left?"

Lily made a seesaw motion with her hand. "He's so different, Jordan."

"Tell me about it."

"Do you think all of that anger was always there?"

The M.E. made a face. "I don't know. And I'm going to leave the analysis up to Detective Simmons. And anything else he might… need."

"Jordan-"

"Lily, he doesn't want me in his life. I…," she glanced down at her hands, fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles had whitened. "I gave up. I had to. I know Pollack isn't exactly anyone's favorite, but he's not as bad as he seems once you get to know him."

Lily's eyes moistened with tears on her friend's behalf. "Is it – Is it real?"

"Hell, I don't know." Jordan snorted. "I think my track record shows I wouldn't know _real_ if it came up and bit me in the ass." She gave Lily a sad, rueful grin. "Or kissed me out in the desert."

In spite of herself, Lily laughed. "That's quite an image."

"Isn't it though?" Jordan grimaced slightly. "Interesting way to start my morning."

Lily smiled as she finished the last of her coffee. She eyed Jordan speculatively for a moment, then plunged ahead. "Can I ask you something really personal?"

Jordan rolled her eyes in mock irritation, but her eyes twinkled. "Once. I wanted to back off after that and he's been very respectful."

"Oh!"

"I hope that's what you were going to ask."

"Well…," Lily teased. "Yeah."

Garret poked his head into Jordan's office. "Jordan?"

"Morning, Garret."

"Sydney's sending in a body. The son of Councilman Morrow. He was stabbed to death. We're going to need to work fast, get everything right the first time. I want you to take it."

Wordlessly, Jordan nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the ramifications of a high profile case. "Uh, Garret? Who's the detective?"

He sighed. "Three guesses."

"Great," was her reply. She looked from her boss to Lily. "Do me a favor and keep him out of my autopsy. I can't deal with his crap today."

"Done," Dr. Macy promised.

END Part One


	2. Injury

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**NOTES:** see part one

**Part Two: Injury**

Macy, Nigel, Bug and even Lily ran interference for Jordan all day. Woody found the time to stop in at shorter and shorter intervals, wanting to know what 'the M.E.' had found. The simple, blank "The body is still in autopsy. You'll get your report as soon as possible," didn't seem to put him off. He finally caught up with Jordan as she was making her way to copy the report and have it sent over to him.

"Dr. Cavanaugh!"

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Squaring her shoulders and wiping her inner turmoil from her face. "Detective?"

"Is that my report?"

"It is."

He nodded, his eyes ice chips in the stone carving of his face. "What took so long?"

"Did you want it fast or did you want it right?" Jordan shot back, her back teeth grinding against each other.

His face drew into a sneer. "Aren't you asking the wrong man that question?" He paused. "Oh wait, never mind. I forgot, you usually work fast."

Her eyes went wide with fury. "You son of a bitch!" Her voice rose and its tenor drew her colleagues from their various locations. "Copy your own damn report. I have better things to do – no, I have better men to do – with my time." She shoved the report against his chest and let go, not caring that he didn't have a hold on it yet and the papers went flying. She turned on her heel and strode toward the elevator.

Without looking at the others from the morgue, Woody collected the papers scattered at his feet. When he did look up, he found himself pinned to the spot with angry glares. Wordlessly, he went to copy the report.

Lily sidled up next to Bug. "Remember when you asked me if I thought they'd ever work out their problems?"

Bug nodded.

"My answer now is _Not anytime soon_."

"Yeah." Bug grimaced.

XXXXX

Jordan sat in her car, taking deep, gulping breaths, swiping at the tears scalding her cheeks. She called Woody every name she could think of, hitting the steering wheel with each syllable. A gentle tap on the window made her jump. Garret peered in at her, his face concerned. She rolled down the window. "No one here'll turn you in if you want to beat on Hoyt instead of your steering wheel."

She laughed harshly, the sound torn from her throat.

"Here." He gave her her handbag. "Go home."

She thanked him and waved goodbye as he began to walk away.

"And Jordan?" He turned. "Take tomorrow off if you want."

"The case-"

"We'll manage."

She nodded, unconvinced.

"I mean it."

Jordan was halfway home when she changed her mind. In ten minutes, she was pulling into a parking space in front of J.D's building. His face registered surprise, but pleasure, at seeing her at his door. "To what do I owe this honor?"

She didn't answer him. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. Her kiss was hungry and aggressive. He backed up, pulling her with him, reaching behind her to push the door closed. "Cavanaugh," he gasped.

"Don't talk." She was pulling up the sweater he had on, her nails scraping lightly against his skin.

He gripped her upper arms, stilled her frantic movements. "Cavanaugh."

She pulled back. Her dark eyes glittered with so many emotions he couldn't begin to catalogue them. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"I do."

"Then what's the problem?" The strident, accusatory tone of her voice rang too shrilly in the air.

"I want you, Cavanaugh. More than I can say. Christ, I dream about you. Sometimes, I'm even asleep." He gave her a lopsided grin in case his fantasizing about her – and admitting it – unsettled her. "But I want you to want me. Because _I'm_ what you want, not because you're angry at _someone_."

"Who said I'm angry at Woo- anyone?"

"Love, it's obvious."

She wrenched herself free and stalked away from him. "What does it matter? It's just physical."

He advanced toward her and, despite her protesting head shake, wrapped her in his arms. "It matters, Cavanaugh." He tilted up her chin and kept it there so she could not avoid his eyes. "It matters because it's not just physical anymore. You've – You've woken up some things in me that I thought were gone. Things that mean a lot to me. Because you mean a lot to me."

She snorted. "What if I don't care? I'm not exactly known for my ability to commit."

"I'm not asking you to make any commitments. I'm telling you why I'm not going to go to bed with you while you're angry at Hoyt. I want us both to be able to look in the mirror the next morning."

She broke away, pacing, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "You really don't know me."

"I know you a lot better than you think," he insisted.

"Yeah?" Her eyes scoffed with as much intensity as her voice. "Really?"

"Probably better than you'd like."

Her hackles rose. "Why don't you tell me how well you know me, Pollack?"

He flicked up an eyebrow. "All right. You have a hell of a time trusting people. So anytime anyone gets close to you, you find reasons to back away. Only you ran into a few people who let you off so easily – your friends at the morgue and Hoyt. Work wasn't so bad, but Hoyt… he terrified you because he didn't give up and you weren't always in control. Finally – probably when he got shot – you decided you could trust him. Only he pushed you away. So, except for work, you went back into your mode of not trusting anyone." He gave her an empathetic smile. "But there's one little problem, isn't there, love? You realized once you've learned to trust even a few people, you _want_ to trust others. That need to connect is too strong"

She stopped moving and stared at him, her jaw slack. "How…?"

"Do you think I haven't been there? Because I have, love. And I meant it – you mean a lot to me. I want you to be able to look at yourself in the mirror in the morning and I think if I take you to bed now, you won't be able to." He paused. "Maybe a few years ago, it wouldn't have been a problem, but now? Well, there was a reason you were creeping out of here that morning a while back."

She turned from him, her stomach in knots, her shoulders slumped. He watched her for a moment, biding his time, aching to hold her, but knowing she had to come to him this time. She took a deep breath that shook her slender frame. When she turned, her eyes shone with unshed tears and she glared at him, but there was no real anger in her expression. "It's not fair," she told him, her voice soft and thick.

"What?" He gave her a tentative smile.

"You. Being right."

He shrugged half-heartedly. "Sorry?"

Jordan shook her head. "Thank you." She came back to him, rested against him.

"How about we get some take out, a little wine and watch some of your awful American TV?"

She smiled at him, her lips stretching tightly over a fresh wellspring of grief. She wished for the days when running was the answer to everything, even if that answer was an illusion. Now her illusions lay shattered around her and their comfort – cold as it had always been – was long forgotten.

Take-out ended up being burgers from a place around the corner. Jordan questioned the nice bottle of wine, but J.D. insisted. "Nothing like an Australian Shiraz, love, no matter what you're eating. And this one happens to come from a winery where I am rather well known."

"Were alien spacecraft seen there?" she teased.

He grinned. "If there were, my brother's never seen fit to mention it."

Her eyes widened. "Your brother?"

"Yeah. He's made quite a go of this place. Or so I hear."

Jordan shot him a quizzical look as she took another bite of the burger.

"It wasn't really off the ground when I left."

"You've never gone back?"

He shook his head. "Someday." He gave her a warm look. "Ever been to Oz?"

Jordan nearly choked. "No. You're not-"

He chuckled. "Calm down, Cavanaugh. I was only going to say you should. You'd like it and-" he raised his glass in a mute toast. "-I think you'd fit in."

Jordan clinked her glass against his and took a sip.

They didn't watch any television, but sat on his couch listening to music, talking quietly and occasionally, content simply to be together. In fits and starts, she told him about what Woody had said to her and she told him bits and pieces of what had come before. She knew he'd worked most of it out for himself, but somehow it felt good to let it out. Then J.D. was telling her about a sailing trip he'd taken in secondary school, his fingers ceaselessly stroking her hair, winding themselves into its silken texture, brushing against her cheek from time to time. Her quiet responses grew utterly silent and, looking down, he found she'd fallen asleep in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder, a slight smile on her lips. He brushed a few locks of hair from her face and kissed her forehead. Moving gently, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his room. He managed to get her under the covers of his bed without waking her. For a few moments, he sat on the edge of the mattress, next to her, watching her. Finally, he smoothed the coverlet over her and kissed her mouth. He turned to tiptoe from the room when her hand snaked out from the beneath the blankets and grabbed his wrist. "Stay," was all she said.

He looked back at her. "Jordan-"

"Stay." Her face was soft and sleepy, but her eyes were beginning to glow with a different fervor. She pushed herself upright. "Because I want to be here with you."

"Are you sure, love?"

She lowered her eyes for a moment and then, looking up at him, she nodded.

He slid into bed with her and wrapped his arms around her. For a long time they lay together in the dark, not talking – not needing to. She could hear the steady thudding of his heart and his even breathing made the world seem more stable for some reason. At last she closed her eyes and told herself to let this be whatever it was supposed to be, for once in her life not to fight it, not to run. Lily had asked if this was real. Jordan had her answer now. _No, it isn't real – not the real I could have had. And we both know it_. She also knew that whatever happened, the cuts and bruises of the last few months were starting to heal. She whispered a goodnight, which he returned.

XXXXX

He let her sleep late the next morning. When she woke up and peered around owlishly, he was sitting in bed next to her, reading the paper. She stretched. He watched her, a smile playing on his lips. "Well, Cavanaugh, I thought you were going to spend your entire day off sleeping."

She grinned coyly at him. "You could have woken me up."

"Really? How?"

"Let me think…." She teased back. She sat back, resting against his headboard. "Thank you."

"For letting you sleep?"

"For last night." She sighed. "For – For making sure I could look at myself in the mirror today."

"Can you?" His tone was serious.

She nodded.

"Good. How about we go grab some lunch and go to the beach?"

Her eyes went wide with incredulity. "The beach? It's December!"

"So?"

She shook her head. "We'll freeze!"

"No, we won't. Come on, Cavanaugh. It'll be different."

"Right, yeah. I'll leave a note pinned to my top so Bug will know we froze to death and can skip autopsying our frigid corpses!"

He laughed and tumbled her over in bed. "Have you got a better idea?"

"Maybe." She raised her head and kissed him. Her arms snaked around him and pulled him down to her. Her hands began to wander toward the top of the sweats he was wearing.

"Hmm, I like your idea," he murmured, his voice throaty with lust. "I think it has definite possibilities. Def-" His stomach growled. Loudly.

They both burst out laughing. Jordan pushed him off of her. "All right. We'll at least grab some lunch."

They walked a few blocks to a sushi place that Jordan knew Bug and Nigel would have adored. They lingered over their meals. "Look," J.D. pointed as the waitress brought the bill.

It had begun to snow.

Having paid, they stood on the sidewalk. "I never quite get used to this," he said.

"No?" She slid her arm into the crook of his elbow.

"No. I love it when it's like this."

"Yeah. And then it hangs around, turns to slush, ices over… Not to mention the potential frostbite and…."

"You're a real killjoy some days, you know that?" He was grinning at her despite his words. "Anyway, you can't fool me, Cavanaugh. You love this place."

She sighed with mock theatrics. Then, she shivered.

Pollack suggested hot chocolate at a little café about halfway back to his place. She agreed with alacrity and in short order they found themselves facing each other over another table.

Jordan took a sip of the steaming drink. It needed to cool just a bit – unless she wanted to scald herself. She gazed at her companion. He seemed mesmerized by the white flakes drifting so lazily from on high. "You really like this weather?"

He shrugged. "Although I do have to admit – the thought that it's sunny and about thirty _Celsius _in Sydney today is a bit discouraging."

"Thirty?" She sighed, this time with real longing.

"Yep. I could be surfing. You could be lying on a beach, wearing a little bikini…." He leered at her. "You're right. This weather is atrocious."

She laughed. "A bikini huh?"

"Well, maybe not. I'd have to fight off all the other blokes. Without a doubt you'd be the hottest woman on the beach."

Jordan blushed slightly, enjoying their lighthearted conversation more than she'd enjoyed any banter since… _Don't go there, just enjoy the moment._ "Why did you leave?"

The smile vanished from his face as surely as if it had never been there.

"I'm sorry. If you-"

"No. It's all right. I – uh – I – I…." He fished his wallet out, opened it and took from it a picture. He laid it on the table and slid it over to her. Jordan picked it up and studied it. A blond woman – twenty-five, twenty-six, maybe – was seated on a rock with a little boy – two or three, Jordan guessed – on her lap. The woman beamed into the camera and pointed, probably at the photographer. Probably at J.D. Pollack. The little boy had his eyes and the shape of his head was unmistakable. Shaking, Jordan handed the picture back.

"You're… married?"

Pollack took a deep breath. "My late wife. She died."

Jordan nodded once, slowly, processing the information syllable by syllable. "And – And your son?"

"Bryan. His name was Bryan."

_Was_? _Was _Bryan? Jordan gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean…." She shook her head.

His mouth twitched. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you. It's not the greatest story, but – but it's important. You mind listening?"

All she could do was shake her head.

He wrapped his hands around his drink. "Scarlet and I met at uni. We hung out together with a bunch of other people. Eventually we started – we got together. I took my degree in journalism, got a job in Melbourne – nothing great, but a start. Scar and I were talking about moving in together, you know." He stopped for a moment. Jordan reached for his hands and took them in hers, squeezing his fingers. "She fell pregnant and I did the right thing. I figured, we'd been moving that way as it was and so – so it was the thing to do. We moved down to Geelong, near her mum so her mum could help out when the baby came. I was still working in Melbourne, commuting an hour each way, moving up a little, but things were really tight. You know, money.

"Bryan came along and – and changed everything. I used to be a lot like you, Cavanaugh." He smiled at her arched eyebrow. "I did. Once Bryan was born I wanted to change the world, make it a better place for my son. I got an in with the editor, started doing some hard hitting pieces, that sort of thing. It was great. Except for the money. Scar and I started arguing – a lot. I was never home and we never had any money and… anything you can think of, we fought about it. One night we had this knock down, drag out. There'd been a call to the house, the editor at one of the Melbourne tabloids offering me a job and a lot more money. I'd turned it down before without Scar's knowing. I should have told her, but I knew she'd go batty on me."

He took a deep breath. "So, we had this fight. And she ended it by grabbing the kid and storming out. She'd done it before – gone on to her mum's for the night, come home in the morning and we'd patched it up. So I sat, watched some cricket, drank a beer or two and took myself off to bed. Then her mum came around about eight-thirty wanting to know why Scar hadn't showed up at eight so they could have breakfast as planned."

Jordan felt tears start in her eyes.

"I didn't know Scar had been drinking. I swear I didn't. I should have, but I was so mad – so mad…." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Do you know anything about Australia?"

Jordan shrugged. "Kangaroos? Koalas?"

He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, well, we've got those. We've also got this bloody great road that runs along the eastern coast. It's called – clever this – the Great Ocean Road. It's a bit like the Pacific Coast Highway out in California. Anyway, it was built between the wars as a make-work project for our veterans. It's marvelous. Gorgeous views. Goes along the ocean obviously. Sometimes you're up a hundred meters or more, sometimes it seems like the waves could wash over the road at high tide. It also winds through the Ottway rainforest. You see all sorts of things – wildlife, interesting rock formations, the remains of shipwrecks. Only you don't see much at night. Not drunk. Not speeding."

"Pollack-"

"She must have known at the end. The skid marks were pretty long, but she took one of the curves way too fast. She never really stood a chance."

"I'm sorry."

He sighed. "She hadn't gotten Bryan in the child seat just right. The impact broke his neck. They told me he died instantly. Scar – Well, for whatever reason, she didn't have her safety belt on. They got her removed from the car by the time I got there, but I saw the windshield. I still see it sometimes – in nightmares."

"So you left?"

He shook his head. "Not right away. I moved up to Sydney for a bit, kept on writing my exposes and the like, struggling to make ends meet. And then I got this idea in my head that if I'd made more money, none of it would ever have happened. Never mind that Scar and I were already drifting apart and probably wouldn't have lasted much longer. Never mind that my son would have been able to be proud of me. No, if I'd made more money, everything would have been perfect."

"You're not the first person to see what you want. Believe me."

He nodded. "Yeah. It's easy, isn't it?" He shrugged again. "So I quit my job and went to work for one of Sydney's most outrageous 'rags.'" He grinned at her. "And I made more money. The thing was that life didn't get any better. My car got better. I found a better flat. But-"

"But nothing else changed."

"Bingo. So I came over here."

"You mean I'm not the only one to run away from my problems?"

"I think maybe I have you beat on this one, Cavanaugh. I not only ran, I ran over ten thousand miles!" He regarded her solemnly for a moment. "At least you came back. It's been seven years since I've been anywhere near 'home.'"

"And now I've got you thinking about it? Great. About par for the course with me."

He smiled. "Not because I want to get away from you, love. No, you reminded me of something. I told you that last night – you woke something up in me I thought was gone. Something that died with Bryan."

"You want to be Crusader Rabbit!" She laughed gleefully.

He grinned back. "Yeah. I kind of do. I've been thinking a lot. I wanted my son to be proud of me. I wanted to make a difference for him. And when I lost him, I figured there wasn't any point, but there's always a point, isn't there, Cavanaugh? So, yeah. You reminded who I used to be and I rather like that bloke. Thought I might give being him a shot again. What do you reckon?"

She leaned across the table and kissed him. "I 'reckon' it might be worth that shot."

"If I went home for a visit, would you come with me?"

"I – uh – um – I-"

"No pressure, Cavanaugh. Just a chance to play tourist, see some great sights, drink some great wine. I think you could use a break and I'd wager Dr. Macy would agree with me. And Bug. And Lily. And Nigel."

Jordan swallowed reflexively. "Can I think about it?"

"Yep. Hmm, the snow has stopped."

She glanced out the window. "Should we get going?"

He gave her that playful leer again. "We'll get cold."

"I'll warm you up."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

END Part Two


	3. Darkness

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**NOTES:** see part one

**Part Three: Darkness**

After even one day off, Jordan felt lighter in some way. No small part of it had to do with the fact that she'd spent the remainder of the previous day – and night – in bed, doing things she'd only vaguely remembered. Four years is a long dry spell and an impulsive quickie didn't really count. At the time the dry spell had seemed worth it…. At the time. She felt her heart skip a beat and pushed away the thoughts that wanted to assail her. Woody had made it all perfectly clear how he felt. Perfectly clear. Jordan marshaled her thoughts back to J.D. as she walked into the break room for a cup of coffee. She gave Nigel a goofy grin.

"Good morning, sunshine!" The Brit greeted her, his tone a bit befuddled. "You are exceedingly cheery this morning."

"It's a great day, Nige," Jordan replied.

"Enjoyed your day off, did you?"

She smiled over the rim of her mug. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, you're here before the morning meeting starts, for one thing."

She grinned. "Oh, that. Dead giveaway, huh? Did I miss anything yesterday?"

Nigel thought about the tantrum Hoyt had thrown when Dr. M had informed him of several things yesterday morning. The first was that the autopsy was complete – Hoyt had a copy of the report. The second was that unless Hoyt brought them a suspect or additional evidence, there was nothing their lab could do for him. The third was that if Hoyt ever made a verbal, personal attack on any of Garret's employees again, the detective would not be welcome at the morgue. Period. End of discussion. "No, nothing much," he told his friend. She didn't need to know about the drama. With Woody lately it had all been drama and, despite Dr. M's attempt to shield Jordan from Woody, the detective would probably create more turmoil the next time his path crossed hers.

"All right then. I'm gonna go stun Garret." Her face wore a conspiratorial smile even though she knew Nigel had held back on her. She let it go. She had to.

XXXXX

In five weeks – between the tenth of November and Christmas – three blizzards roared over the Eastern seaboard. A fourth big blow was predicted right on the heels of the third. Jordan stood, looking out the window in her office. The morgue was practically deserted. She'd had a hell of a time getting in to work and it didn't surprise her to find herself almost alone. She unclipped her cell phone and dialed J.D.

"You get to work all right, love?"

She grinned. What was not to like about Caller I.D.? "I did."

"Did anyone else?"

"Lily's here." She licked her lips. "So what's the weather like today in Sydney?"

He laughed. "Ah, let me check… hmm, high of – oh, same as here. Twenty-eight. Oh, wait. That's Celsius! Silly of me."

"Shut up." She scraped the carpet with one boot-clad toe. "Twenty-eight, huh?"

"With sunny skies and – oh, yeah, look at this – waves from two to three meters." His voice told her how much he was enjoying this conversation.

"Wow. That sounds – I have no idea how that sounds."

"So, Cavanaugh, is there a reason you wanted a meteorological report from my homeland?"

"Is that offer still open?"

"To play tourist in Oz?"

She smiled. "With you as my tour guide, right?"

"Absolutely, love."

"And how long is the flight?"

"I'll tell you when we get on the plane," he teased.

"Why then?"

His chuckle rumbled through the phone. "Because it's so long that if I tell you now you might view it as a long term commitment and change your mind."

Laughing, she rung off.

XXXXX

Jordan stood on the balcony of the tiny flat in Manly, across the harbor from Sydney proper, a cup of tea in her hand, her gaze drifting out toward the haze of that harbor. J.D. came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulders. "Not bad, huh?"

She nodded. "Mmm. The view alone is stunning. You've got friends with great real estate instincts."

He kissed her neck, working his way up to her ear. "The view doesn't even begin to compare to you, Cavanaugh."

She chuckled and turned in his embrace. "What do you suppose it's like in Boston today?"

He pretended to ponder that. "You know, I don't really care."

They had been in Sydney nearly a week. J.D. had shown her the sights of the city, from climbing the famous Harbour Bridge to attending a concert at the renowned Opera House. They had gone out to Taronga Zoo and he'd gotten some lovely shots of Jordan holding one of the koalas in the sanctuary. He'd taken her up to the Blue Mountains, staying at a romantic bed and breakfast and waking her just before dawn to see the sun rise over the Three Sisters. They'd spent two days in the Hunter Valley, driving from winery to winery, tasting a tremendous variety of wines, staying with his brother, his girlfriend and their daughters. In the afternoon they were leaving for Cairns, where he'd show her the Daintree rainforest and then they'd go sailing in the Great Barrier Reef. Before that he needed to talk to her. He dreaded the conversation.

"What's up, J.D.?"

He smiled at her, his lopsided grin not masking the anxiety in his eyes. "Why do you ask, love?"

"You're tense, for one thing." She rubbed his shoulders. "And you were jumpy last night."

He sighed. "All right, Cavanaugh. You got me."

"Well?"

"I – uh – I…." He released her and leaned against the railing. "You know that bloke we ran into at lunch?"

"After the bridge?"

He nodded.

She shrugged. "He was your editor in Melbourne."

His eyes widened.

"Oh, come on. I was jet lagged, not given a lobotomy."

He grinned. "Yeah, all right."

She smiled at him and pinned him against the railing with her body. "He offered you a job here."

J.D. nodded. He laid his hand on her head and then stroked his fingers through her hair. "I told him I'd give him my answer today."

"You had to think about it?" Her eyes registered surprise.

"I had to think about it." His expression was serious, nearly grave. "I'm going to take it."

"Good. You should."

For a long moment he regarded her, his eyes searching her face. "Jordan, I'm not going to ask you to stay." She started to speak and he held up a hand. "I know what that little voice in your head is likely to say if I do. But I want you to know – if you decided to stay, I'd – I'd – Well, I reckon I wouldn't complain."

She hesitated for a long moment. "J.D.-"

"Shh, love, don't. I know. I've always known."

"Known what?"

"Hoyt."

"What…?"

His smile was soft, sad. "You love him, Cavanaugh. And you don't – you don't fall in love easily. Once you're there, you're there for the duration, even when it hurts." He brushed her hair again. "And he loves you."

She snorted. "Hardly."

"No," J.D. shook his head. "He does. I can't blame him."

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." One side of his mouth quirked up. "I knew the score. I wanted to play the game anyway. Didn't intend to take it quite so seriously."

"Maybe I should change my flight…?"

He shook his head. "No. We've another week, Jordan. I want to show you the Daintree and the Reef. I want to spend one more week making love to you, falling asleep with you, waking up next to you. And when you get on that plane back to cold, snowy Boston, we'll go our own ways. No regrets, just a lot of good memories."

Slowly, biting her lip, she nodded.

XXXXX

"Oh, my God, Jordan, that is too cute!" Lily's squeal made Jordan smile. "I can't believe you actually got to hold a koala!"

The M.E. nodded. "I wanted to box one of the 'roos, but J.D. was afraid I'd get hurt."

"He never heard about your boss in L.A.?" Lily's grin was wide and teasing.

Jordan shook her head, grinning too.

"Wow, how beautiful is that?" The new exclamation was prompted by a picture of Jordan on a white sand beach on one of the Reef's small islands. Jordan continued handing over pictures as she sat with her friend in the break room, drinking coffee and trying not to wish she'd stayed. _It's being alone again, that's all. You got used to having someone around, Jordan._

"Jordan! You're here," Nigel observed as he came into the room.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

He smiled. "Jet lag, rotten weather, one more day of freedom with Mr. Pollack…."

Jordan's mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Jordan?" Lily reached out a hand and laid it over one of Jordan's.

"J.D. stayed in Sydney."

"Oh," Nigel commented. "Catching a later flight?"

Jordan shook her head. "He's not coming back."

Lily's eyes went wide. "Really? Why not?"

"He got a job offer. A good job offer, writing for the Sydney Herald. Investigative journalism." She shrugged. "It's the right thing for him."

"Are you okay?" Lily asked.

"I'm fine. Really," she promised them. "I could have stayed…." She smiled. "I thought about it, but how could I leave all this?"

"Yeah," the Brit agreed. "Dead bodies, blizzards, traffic jams…."

"You guys, Boston in the Spring, the Red Sox… you guys…." Jordan smiled. "It's all good, Nige."

XXXXX

March had roared in like a lion and out like a lamb, giving way to one of the nicest Aprils on record that glided gently into a gorgeous May with forecasts looking good for June. Jordan's friends awaited the implosion they assumed was inevitable. Although she hadn't run from Boston after Woody's rejection of her, she'd retreated into herself. The erosion of her friendship with the detective had worried everyone. The fact that Pollack's presence in her life seemed to offer some happiness and healing had not gone unnoticed. His sudden absence was, they were all certain, going to be the proverbial straw.

Garret stood in the hallway, looking out the window at the street below. Lily brought him a cup of coffee. He thanked her. "I'm worried about Jordan."

"You know, Garret, I think Jordan's doing a lot better than any of us expected. I think - well, I know this sounds… patronizing? Weird? Like psychobabble? Anyway, I think she really matured a lot, got past some of her demons."

Macy looked at his employee. "Yeah, I agree."

"Oh." Lily tilted her head just slightly. "Then – uh – why are you worried?"

"Because our new Jordan is never this late. And she's not answering her phone or her cell."

"Oh." Lily's face crinkled in concern. "Really? Neither?"

"Yeah. I've just got this – this feeling. You ever get those?"

She nodded.

"Look," Garret said. "I've got that meeting in fifteen minutes. Would you mind just going and – and checking on her?"

"Sure. Not a problem."

XXXXX

An hour later, his meeting mercifully cancelled, Garret was in Autopsy One with Bug, Nigel and Detective Hoyt, going over the corpse of a victim of strangulation. His cell phone rang. "Macy."

"Garret. It's Lily."

"Lily, where are you?" He checked his watch, that feeling he'd had earlier poking chill fingers of anxiety into his gut.

"The hospital. With Jordan."

"What?" His tone got the attention of the other three men.

"Garret, can you come down here? You're listed as her emergency contact and – and – can you just come down here?"

"Yeah, sure. Where?" He listened. "Lily, what's wrong?"

"That's just it, Garret. They won't tell me! All I know is I found her in her apartment. She was unconscious and lying in a pool of blood." Her voice broke. "Hurry. Please. It's – It's bad. I think. I'm pretty sure."

"I'm on my way."

"What's the matter with Lily?" Bug asked, his usual concern for her evident in his tone.

Macy shook his head. "Not Lily. Jordan."

"What's wrong with Jordan?" Nigel's usual concern for Jordan was evident in _his_ tone.

"Lily doesn't know. They won't tell her. I sent her to Jordan's because – because Jordan hadn't shown up and I had this weird feeling."

Woody let out a ragged breath. "Is she all right? Jordan?"

"No. Lily thinks it's bad. She found Jordan unconscious." He stopped. "And lying in a pool of blood."

END Part Three


	4. Despair

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

NOTES: see part one

EXTRA NOTE: This chapter deals almost exclusively with spiritual matters. If you are uncomfortable with that, skip this chapter – the story is structured so that the remainder will still make sense. If you do read the chapter, please know that the opinions and feelings are mine and, while I do not ask that any reader agree with them, I would request that readers respect my right to them. Thanks.

**Part Four: Despair**

By the time Garret reached the hospital Jordan's condition had worsened. He had enough time to sign the forms required for emergency treatment. After that, he and Lily had more time than they knew what to do with, waiting for some word.

"She lost a _lot_ of blood," Lily said. "A lot. I – I didn't know – I mean, there was so much…."

Garret put his arm around her and drew her head to his shoulder. "Try not to think about it."

"How can I not? I found her. And, my God, Garret, what if I hadn't gone over there?"

"Lily." His voice was stern, gruff, but loving and calming. "Stop it. You did go over there. You did find her. And this is Jordan. She'll make it."

When, at last, the doctor came to them, his face told them nothing. They both stood up. Lily clung to Garret's arm, terrified to hear whatever the man in front of them would tell them and terrified not to hear it. The doctor, who looked to Garret like he was in junior high, came directly to the point. "Dr. Cavanaugh is going to be fine."

"Oh thank God," Lily breathed. She felt Garret relax a fraction.

"She lost a great deal of blood and had to be transfused. She was bleeding internally, which complicated matters, but the problem wasn't serious and she'll make a full recovery. Luckily, we were able to do the D and C now so she won't have to undergo any more procedures while she's regaining her strength."

"Thank you, Dr. Robinson," Lily gushed. "Thank you so much."

"D and C?" Garret gave the man a hard look. "You said D and C."

The doctor nodded. "Yes. It's what we do in cases like this."

"I'm sorry – cases like what?" Macy's voice was challenging.

Now the doctor's face grew befuddled. "In cases of a miscarriage. Especially in the second trimester."

Next to her, Lily felt all of Garret's tension return as she smothered her own gasp of surprise.

When the doctor had left them, telling them they could visit Jordan during official visiting hours, but not to tire her, they both sunk back down to the couch. Lily tried to speak several times but found her tongue refused to obey her brain's commands. For his part, Garret sat like a statue. Finally, Lily managed to coordinate her tongue and lips. "Miscarriage? Second trimester? Did he say that?"

"Uh huh. He said that."

"Did you know?"

Garret looked at her. "No. She never said a word."

"Do you think – I mean, maybe she didn't want – God…. Why didn't she tell us?"

"Maybe she wasn't sure what she was going to do."

"Do you think she told J.D.?"

"Do you think the baby was his?" Macy hated himself the moment the words left his mouth. In the past he might have had cause to say that but he knew Jordan had changed.

"Garret!"

He held up a hand to negate her chiding. "I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say."

"It really was." Lily chastised him anyway.

"I have a feeling if she'd told him he'd have been on the next flight back to Boston."

"Do you?" Lily smiled sadly. "Me too."

"He loved her."

"Enough to let her go. Do you think he knew… that she still loves Woody?"

Macy snorted. "Of course he knew. Why do you think he let her go? He wanted what was best for her."

"Do you think that's Woody?" Lily's voice held honest curiosity.

Garret was silent for a long time. "I don't know."

XXXXX

Jordan's first realization was that she was thirsty. Her second was that something was sticking into her arm. Her third was memory. And she wanted to shut the door on all of it, drift back into the drug induced sleep she'd been in and stay there until nothing hurt anymore. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing away the world.

"Jordan? You awake?"

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and turned her head to find Paul sitting at her bedside. Without being asked, he filled a cup of water for her from the pitcher standing on the bedside table. She shifted enough to accept it from him, drinking slowly, postponing the inevitable. She watched him over the rim of the glass as he tucked a worn leather bookmark between two leaves of the book he'd been reading. He closed the book and laid it next to the pitcher.

"Lily said you asked for me yesterday." He took the glass from her and refilled it, handing it back, letting her set the pace.

Jordan searched her flannel-wrapped memories and found that she had. She nodded, feeling the tears starting already.

"I would have come sooner, but she said the doctors wanted you to rest as much as possible."

She nodded, the tears she hated leaking from her eyes.

Paul took the water away again and wrapped her hand in his larger ones. She made a soft, choked sound in the back of her throat. For a moment, Paul thought of everything that might have been with this woman. But it never really had been a choice. He cocked his head at her. "Why did you ask for me? To help you talk to God? Confess?"

Her lips twitched in the effort of smiling, but his poor attempt at mirth fell short.

"I wanted to ask you something."

He heard the accusation in her strained voice and he dreaded what he suspected would come next. "I'll try to answer anything you ask, Jordan. If I can."

Her eyes darkened like a sky brewing with summer storm clouds. "Is God punishing me?"

Paul took a deep, steadying breath. "No, Jordan. God isn't punishing you."

"Well then, He's doing a damn good imitation of it!" Grief ravaged her voice. She swiped angrily at the tears, wincing as the I.V. needle dug into her arm.

"Jordan, listen-"

"No, Paul, you listen. Listen and then tell me God hasn't got it in for me." She breathed in, shaking, miserable. Paul waited. "You remember Woody Hoyt?"

He nodded. "The detective. The one who was more than just a little bit in love with you. And you with him."

"How did you…?"

"I have eyes, Jordan. And I know you pretty well." He could not stop himself from glancing to her abdomen. "Your baby – was it his?"

She shook her head. "You got the tense right when you said he _was_ in love with me." She explained briefly about the shooting, her rushed, hushed declaration and the aftermath of it all, about the way everything fell apart. And about how Pollack came into her life.

"What did this man – Pollack – what did he say about the baby?"

Jordan eyed Paul for a few heartbeats. "I hadn't told him."

"You – Lily told me you were eighteen weeks along."

She nodded.

"Why didn't you tell him?"

She sighed. "The truth? At first, I wasn't going to have the baby. I had an appointment with my doctor and everything."

"Jordan-"

She shook her head. "I couldn't. I started thinking of my mom, of J.D.'s son, of – of – of a lot things." Her lips twitched as fresh tears began coursing down her face. "I realized I really wanted this baby. I finally felt like maybe I could do this, could be a parent, be accountable to someone else. I _wanted_ to be accountable to someone else."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Jordan, but being accountable to your baby didn't include telling the father?"

"It's complicated, Paul."

"It always is." His voice was tender, but unyielding. He'd always been able to make her face up to the worst in herself. And the best.

"If I'd told him, he'd have been on the next plane to Boston. Or had me on the next one to Sydney."

"And that would have been a bad thing?"

"Eventually." She nodded.

"Why?"

She sniffed. "I didn't love him."

"You might have, in time."

She shook her head. "No. I might have been content with what he would have offered. Security. A family. A new start. I might even have been a little in love with him, but that deeper feeling? It wasn't ever going to be there."

"People have managed before, you know."

"I know. And maybe if it had been the same for him, maybe I could have tried it anyway."

"He loved you." Paul didn't make it a question.

Slowly, she nodded, thinking of the night she later knew she'd gotten pregnant, their last in the Reef. She'd lain in his arms, the boat rocking gently, the night peaceful around them. He'd thought her asleep. As he'd combed his fingers through the loose tangles in her dark curls, he'd murmured, "I do love you, Cavanaugh." Part of her, the part that cared about him but couldn't quite love him, had ached to lie to him, to reply in kind, but they'd never played games with each other and she'd had too much respect for that to start. And he'd told her on more than one occasion that she was a terrible liar. So she'd gone on feigning sleep, letting the gentle, lingering touch of his fingers and the soft warmth of his mouth "wake" her up. "He loved me," she agreed at last. "And he deserves more than someone who would only ever be content." She looked at Paul. "I was going to tell him later. I was."

The priest nodded. He knew Jordan wouldn't have kept her child and its father apart. "So why do you think God is punishing you?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

He shook his head, although he could have articulated her reasons for her.

"Paul, my whole life I've learned not to trust people, not to get too close – or only do it on my own terms. I finally – _finally_ – let someone in, let Woody in and what happens? All those life lessons I ignored came back and bit me on the ass! And it wasn't even the shooting so much – it was everything after that. But then – then I run into this guy – this annoying, obnoxious, creepy reporter guy who turns out to be a bunch of things I thought he wasn't. And I think – I think – I had what you might actually call a grown-up relationship!"

Paul nodded reflectively, but let her continue.

"I find out I'm pregnant. I – I realize I want this baby. More than anything. I mean, tell me – didn't I finally get to those places everyone kept telling me I needed to get to? And what happens? I lose the baby. I can't win, Paul!"

Mutely, wary of the IV needle, he took her in his arms and let her sob. He rubbed her back with one hand. Silently, he prayed for her. He prayed for the right words and that she could find the determination one more time to let herself trust. When she began to calm, he spoke. "Jordan, do you remember the verse that starts 'Now we see through a glass dimly?'"

She pulled away, resting against her pillows. "I know, I know, Paul. God has a plan for us and we just can't see what it is, but someday – when we're dead – we'll know and it will all make sense. Forgive me if 'someday' isn't enough for me right now."

He brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I know that hearing God has a plan for us doesn't help much, not when we're grieving, but I do believe it's true. And I believe we can hold on to that knowledge and it can help us make it through."

"What is the point, Paul? What is God's plan? Drive Jordan crazy like her mother?"

"Don't say that, Jordan! Of course that's not His plan. He wants you to use the tragedies in your life to find your path." He stopped, listening in his heart for the words he wanted. "Can you deny that some of that has already happened?"

Her perplexed look spurred him on. "You are so passionate about your work, Jordan. Don't you think some of that passion – that desire to find justice for the dead, to provide answers for their families – don't you think some of that comes from the knowledge that there was never justice for your own mother? That you have never had any real answers?"

She nodded slowly.

"There is a reason for all of this, Jordan. You may not see it today or tomorrow. In this life, you may never see it or it may strike you almost out of nowhere someday. I wish I could tell you that you'll understand it – or that I'll understand it and be able to tell you, but I can't say that. All I can say is that as hard as it is to see right now, God is not punishing you. He loves you."

"He has a funny way of showing it." She gave a shuddering sigh. "Maybe he's still mad at me for trying to seduce you away from the priesthood."

Paul smiled at her.

"I know. It was never a choice." The resignation in her voice was real.

"You want to know something?" He squeezed her hand. "There are times – many times – I've wondered why I felt called to the Church. I've spent long hours praying about God's plan for my life and maybe I understand a little bit of it more now."

"And that would be?"

"To be here for you, to hold you and grieve with you, to try to convince you that God does love you."

"Great." She drew the word out. "You became a priest almost twenty years ago as part of God's master plan so you could tell me all about God's master plan?"

He smiled again. "Something like that."

She shook her head.

"Think about it, Jordan. Just think about it."

Her face grew serious again. "I doubt I'll think about much else."

Paul stood up. "I hate to leave, but I'm due at the shelter in about half an hour."

She nodded. "Go. I'll be – I'll be okay."

"You call me if you need anything."

She gave him a grave nod and promised to do so. She also thanked him and the sincerity in her voice pleased him. He could still feel the turmoil within her, but the wildness of the grief, the anger of it had subsided. He knew her well enough to know that it would be back, but for the moment, while the ache pierced her soul, it did not threaten to consume her in despair.

He stopped at the door. "I'll say a mass for – him? Her?"

"Her," Jordan replied softly. "Thank you."

"Baby Girl Cavanaugh."

"Kathleen Marie Cavanaugh," she told him. "Kathleen Marie."

He nodded. "She _is_ with God, Jordan."

"I wanted her here. With me."

Paul gazed at the floor for a moment. "I know," was all he could say in the end.

After he was gone, Jordan lay and stared out her window as dusk fell on Boston. Three days ago she had been pregnant. She had seen sonograms, heard her daughter's heartbeat and at least imagined she'd felt the first fluttery stirrings of activity in her womb. She'd been thinking about moving to some place bigger – and safer. She'd been on the verge of admitting she needed to go shopping for maternity clothes even. She'd known she'd have to tell Garret soon and track down her father to tell him he was going to be a grandpa. Just like the moment she'd known she loved Woody and always would, the moment when she'd known if he died on that operating table that something in her she'd hardly acknowledged was there would die with him, the moment she had realized how much the baby meant to her had changed her life. Like Saul on the road to Damascus, her priest might have told her. But just like the moment Woody had cut her from his life, when she'd woken to knowing that she'd lost her child, the world had rocked on its axis, shaking her newfound certainty to the core. She wept as full dark descended.

And she prayed.

END Part Four


	5. Error

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

NOTES: see part one

**Part Five: Error**

Despite Garret's protests, Jordan was back at work ten days after the doctor released her. Only Macy and her closest friends – Lily, Bug and Nigel – knew the truth behind her absence. From everyone else she accepted with outward good humor the jokes and gibes about how uncoordinated she must have been to fall and hit her head on a kitchen counter. As much as it hurt to chuckle and agree that she really could be a klutz at times, Jordan knew she couldn't have dealt with the inevitable sympathy that would have washed over her.

She even chafed at the attention her friends showed her, though they avoided talking to her about her loss, not wanting to keep the wound open. Lily had a lot of lunches with the M.E. _No doubt making sure I don't waste away._ Garret gave her only the most routine of cases, and there were days he all but escorted her to her car at the end of the day. A time or two he'd threatened to drive her home. Nigel and Bug were a little better, but only a little. Too many of their conversations about some case or other dried up when she walked into a room. After six weeks, she began to beg Dr. Macy for more challenges.

Garret did send her out on more calls and tried to stop hovering over her so much. The one person he would not let near her, however, was Woody. The detective had shown a great deal of solicitousness after Jordan's hospitalization, dropping in at the morgue, calling, trying to find out exactly what had happened with her. He'd been given the same story fed to those outside the close circle. When she'd returned, he'd made several attempts to see her, but those had been thwarted. While her friends knew that at some point Jordan and Woody would have to face each other and determine what, if anything, remained between them, none of them were willing to let that happen until she healed, physically and emotionally.

Still, on a blistering, muggy August morning, Jordan found herself crouched next to a body in the middle of a street with Woody peering over her shoulder. Jordan had been the only available M.E. and she'd taken the case, hoping it might put a further damper on what was rapidly going from slightly charming concern to smothering over protectiveness on Garret's part.

"Do we have an i.d., Detective?" Her voice was flat, neutral.

Woody could hardly know that she spoke to almost everyone that way these days. He shoved down the familiar, happy feeling he'd had at seeing her. "Jin Yeng Chu. He owned the convenience store over there." Jordan followed the direction Woody pointed. Woody looked down, reciting from his notes. "He had a confrontation with one Mi Yeng Chu – his nephew and apparent gang member. Witnesses said they'd had several arguments. After this one the nephew stormed out. A few minutes later a rock was tossed through the front window. The victim came out of the store. A car came down the street and hit him. The driver sped off."

The M.E. studied the scene with coolly appraising eyes.

"We got the rock thrower, by the way. The nephew's little brother – another nephew."

Jordan nodded, but said little. She took the required photos, examined the body _in situ_ as much as possible, her eyes narrowing at one point. "Did any of the witnesses say what color the car was?"

Woody consulted his notes, though he already knew the answer. If she was going to be cold, he could be, too. "Orange. The nephew – the older one – drives a car with a custom paint job. Orange."

"Well," Jordan glanced up. "I've got what looks like orange paint here. If it's custom, it should be too difficult to match it to the car once you find it."

"Yeah, I'm thinking this is a slam dunk."

She didn't take the bait, didn't admonish him not to jump to conclusions, but to wait for the forensics. Instead she simply nodded. "I'll get him back to the morgue. You should have the report by the end of the day, Detective."

"Thanks. Doctor."

She ignored the pointed nature of his response. Or she never felt it. Woody couldn't tell.

XXXXX

Jordan was finishing up her report on Mr. Chu. It had been about as routine as possible. She was about to sign it when her office phone rang. "Cavanaugh."

"Hey."

Jordan's heart lurched. "Pollack! Wow, surprise, surprise."

"Lily didn't mention I called earlier? You apparently had your hands full."

Jordan chuckled. "Yeah, with some poor hit and run victim's insides. And no, she didn't tell me, but I haven't… hold on." Her office door opened to reveal Lily.

The grief counselor saw Jordan was on the phone and made an apologetic face. Quietly, she said, "Sorry. Um, I meant to tell you that J.D. called earlier."

"Thanks, Lily," Jordan said with a slight smile. After the door closed, she settled back in her chair. "So, Lily just told me you called earlier."

He laughed. "Well, then."

"Yeah." The words were on the tip of her tongue, the words to tell him about their daughter. They strangled anything else she might have said.

"How've you been, Cavanaugh?"

"Good," she lied. "Good. You?"

"Worried."

"Why?"

"You're a bad liar, Jordan. Even on the phone. I called yesterday, too. Got told you'd gone home a bit early, that you're still recovering from your hospital stay."

"Oh, that." Jordan forced a smile into her voice. "It was – Really, just stupid. I – uh – I fell and hit my head. Lost some blood. You know."

"What did I just say?"

"About what?"

"You're a terrible liar. Come on, babe. What's been going on with you?"

She closed her eyes. Her breath came in short gasps. "I – I – Oh, God." She bit back a sob and the words tumbled out with none of the practiced aplomb she'd hoped for. "I had a miscarriage."

He was silent for long enough that she was sure he'd rung off. "How – How far along?"

"Eighteen weeks," she told him, her voice thick with pain.

Another long pause. "Ours?"

"Ours," she confirmed. "That night in the Reef. The last one."

"Are you all right?" She could hear the tightness in his throat and she wished fiercely for a moment that she could have made herself love him. In the space of a hundred and twenty seconds he had learned that not only had she been carrying their child and lost it, but that she'd never told him and his first reaction was not anger, but concern for her.

"I guess."

She heard him take a deep breath. "Were you going to tell me?" The question was an honest one – one he certainly had a right to ask – but there was no accusation in it.

"Yes," she whispered. "After – After she was born."

"A girl? The baby was a girl?"

"Yeah."

"I bet she'd have looked just like you." His breath caught in his throat. "Beautiful."

Jordan chewed on her lip.

"Why did you wait, Cavanaugh? You know I'd have moved back to Boston."

"Or asked me to move down there. Yeah, I know."

"So… why?"

She swallowed. "Because it wouldn't have been fair."

"To you?"

"No." She took another deep breath. "To you. I – I – You deserve someone who – who can feel that – that way. About you. And that someone isn't me. But – I want you – No, I _need_ you to know, I never would have kept her away from you. We'd have worked out something."

"Yeah. Something." Jordan couldn't blame him for sounding stunned.

"Well, now you know what thing's have been like here." Jordan tried to pull the conversation away to firmer ground. "Why did you call in the first place?"

He snorted. "Doesn't seem so important now."

"Tell me." Her voice was soft and pleading.

"I called to thank you."

"I guess I've blown that."

"No. No. I'm – I'm shocked, but I – I do understand."

"So…?"

"You know that man I used to be? The one I told you about? The one I kind of came here to see if I could find again?"

She smiled. "Found him?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Like him?"

He chuckled softly. "I really do. And apparently so does our little association of journalists down here. I've earned an award for a piece I did on the treatment of Aboriginals." He paused. "None of them were on meth. None of them microwaved parrots. And none of them found a piece of toast that looked like King Henry the VIII in their toaster. My series shook a few things up."

"Crusader Rabbit," she murmured.

"Indeed. And I owe that to you, Cavanaugh."

She shook her head. "No. You did it."

"But you made me want to do it. You reminded me what it is to put other people first." He hesitated. "I love you, Cavanaugh. And if you ever decide what you're looking for isn't in Boston after all, then you'll have a place here."

"Pollack-"

"Don't say it. I know. I just needed you to know the door was always open."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Did you – Had you thought of names?"

Jordan swallowed again. "Kathleen Marie. My dad's mom's name."

"I like it," he told her. Silence descended for several long heartbeats. "Take care of yourself, Cavanaugh."

As she replaced the receiver, Jordan couldn't help feeling she ought to pick it right back up and book a ticket to Sydney. She'd been ignoring it all day, but seeing Woody again had upset her. Nothing would ever be the same, and she'd about given up hope that they could even salvage a working relationship. _Maybe what I'm looking for **is**__in Boston, but I let it get too far away. _She didn't know if Sydney held anything more, but it couldn't possibly hurt as much. _And it's not like I'd be running away so much as running to… to someone who wants me, who loves me despite everything, who… who isn't someone I'll ever truly love._

She reached into her desk and pulled out two sheets of photo paper. She stared at the top one for a long time. The captain on the chartered boat had taken it the second night in the Reef. He'd caught Jordan and J.D. as they stood at the railing, watching the sun sinking into the ocean, painting the sky gaudy shades of pink and lavender. She'd been leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. His arms had been wrapped loosely around her. They'd both been smiling. No regrets, he'd said, just good memories. That moment in time, caught by a stealthy photographer, frozen on paper, was cherished. Jordan looked at it and saw what had been missing all her life – ease, trust, security. She knew she'd been perfectly happy at that moment – and so had he. If only she'd been able to believe there would have been more moments like that with him… but she knew the truth.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Across the movie screen in her head, she saw that moment, but it was Woody's arms that held her; Woody's breath that blew softly across her neck; Woody's lips that nuzzled her ear; Woody's voice that murmured suggestions about skinny dipping once the sun set.

And then it struck her. What Paul had said. The reason. For a moment she had found the happiness she'd thought would forever elude her. She'd brought that happiness to _someone else_. No recriminations, no tears, no fears that somehow she'd screw it all up and hurt someone who meant a lot to her. Paul had been right – it was sudden and revelatory. She had no idea if it was entirely too late for her and Woody, but she knew that if the chance came around again, she would take it.

She barely heard the knock on her door, so lost was she in her thoughts. The tapping grew louder. She caught herself, straightened in her chair and brushed the tears from her eyes. "Come in," she called, her voice only a little shaky. Hastily, she thrust the pictures under the report on her desk.

Woody opened the door.

"Come in, Detective. What can I do for you?"

Woody gave her a tentative smile. "Stop calling me 'Detective,' for starters."

"What would you prefer I call you?" Her voice dripped sarcasm, her mind imagining scorn in his voice.

He flinched as if she'd reached out and slapped him. He looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head – which might have been better in some ways. "I'm sorry-" he started.

"No, no," she interrupted. "_I'm_ sorry, Detec- Woody. I – I've had a long day. I'm tired."

He gestured to the chair across from hers. She nodded and waved at him to sit down. He did so carefully, as though her temper might flare again and singe him at any moment. "I was hoping maybe you had the Chu autopsy done."

Jordan swallowed. "Yeah. It's – It's right here. I – I need to sign it and make a copy."

"Mind if I…?" Without waiting, he reached for the papers. As he did so, the two photos slid toward him. Jordan grabbed for them, but Woody was faster. He started to hand them to her and then his eyes fell on the top one. His mouth twisted into a grimace and he spoke with the scorn she'd earlier only imagined, but now was entirely real. "Nice. Lovely. It looks like you had a great vacation, Jordan."

"Woody…." She watched as he slid the top picture to the side. Her hand shook with the desire to grab both photos, but especially the bottom one, from him.

He looked up at her. "You're…?"

Slowly, she shook her head, her eyes burning with fresh tears, her throat painfully tight.

"But – But this is…." Their conversation had become unfinished sentences, much like their relationship. He noticed the date and he did the math." This was a few days before you were hospitalized."

She nodded.

He spoke slowly, connecting the dots aloud. "You didn't hit your head. You – Oh, God, Jo, I'm sorry."

She fought back the tears.

"I – Uh – I don't know what to say. Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Physically."

""Yeah, I – I can imagine. The other… Pollack, he's – uh – he's there for you?"

"He moved back to Sydney."

"When you were pregnant?" If thoughts could kill, some M.E. down in New South Wales would soon be doing an autopsy on the body of one reporter, J.D. Pollack by name.

Jordan shook her head. "He didn't know. I didn't – She wasn't planned."

Woody's face softened. "A girl?"

"Yeah. Kathleen Marie."

Woody was the first one to ask. "Not Emily?"

"No." Jordan bit her lip. "She deserved her own name. A name that was – didn't have difficult memories. It was my dad's mom's name."

"Did you tell Pollack?"

She laughed harshly. "Today actually. Right before you came by. He called."

"You have had a hell of a day."

Jordan nodded. "I could go a long time without another one like it." She stood up and faced the window, unable to meet his blue eyes any longer. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't. Not because she was afraid any longer of being hurt or even of hurting him, but because he no longer wanted to hear those things. He no longer needed her or wanted her in his life.

She gave a small gasp of surprise when his hands descended on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jo. Really sorry. It must have been – terrible for you." He tugged at her shoulders gently, pulling her against him.

She let herself rest against him, let the warmth of his lean body soak into her, let the scent of his shampoo and aftershave envelop her. She tried to memorize every detail. "I – At first, I wasn't going to go through with it." She swallowed. "But I couldn't. I couldn't do that. I wanted her."

Her words went through him. She'd loved Pollack enough to want his baby. "Were you scared?"

"Terrified," she told him, smiling through her tears. "I guess I'm old-fashioned enough I'd always thought I'd be married – or at least _with_ someone - when I had a kid."

"Did you ever think it might be…." He bit off the words that had flown from his soul to his lips without checking their flight plan with his brain.

"Did I ever think what?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing."

She pulled away, aware of a new tension in him. She took a deep breath and turned around. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Getting all – all – girlie. Dumping on you."

He shook his head again. "You didn't do that. I asked."

"Yeah, well…. Look, I'll copy the report for you and then you can get out of here."

"I'm not in a rush. I mean, if you want to talk. If it helps."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, but I'm sure Detective Simmons is expecting you."

"Why would she be?"

Jordan arched a brow. "You… her… I kind of heard… there was a rumor." _I saw it with my own two eyes._

Woody smiled at her. "Rumors of my involvement with Detective Simmons were greatly exaggerated." He shrugged. "And she's moved to Chicago."

"Oh," Jordan squeaked. "I see. Well, still, let me copy this for you-"

"Let me do it, Jordan. My fingers aren't broken."

She gave in and, after signing it, handed him the report. She returned to stare out her window at the skyline. She turned at the sound of Garret's voice. "Go home, Jordan. That's an order."

"I am. I'm just waiting-"

"Now."

"Garret, I'm waiting for – There," she finished as Woody came back, report and copy in hand. "Woody needed a copy of my report on the hit-and-run this morning."

"Great, he's got it. Now go home."

"I'm going," Jordan promised.

With a final admonitory glance at his employee and a stern, warning glare at the detective, Garret continued down to his office.

"I'm not exactly his favorite person," Woody observed.

"Not exactly."

"You know, they're pretty protective of you around here."

She grinned. "Yeah."

"I was kind of thinking of asking if you'd like to grab some dinner…." His smile was tempting. "But I'm also thinking one of your colleagues might 'coincidentally' show up wherever we went."

"Yeah, we'd probably have to go to Connecticut to avoid them."

Woody studied her for a moment. "We'd better get going then."

"Why?"

His grin broadened. "It's a long drive to Connecticut."

END Part Five


	6. It Is in Giving That We Receive

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

NOTES: see part one

**Part Six: It Is in Giving that We Receive**

In the end a small Indian restaurant along a backstreet in Cambridge had to do. To Jordan's wondering "How did you find this place?" Woody replied that rumors of his having dinner with Detective Simmons were not exaggerated. Jordan managed to smile at that.

They sat at a table in a corner, screened by some sort of small trees that created a living barrier between the cozy table and the rest of the room. Both peered through the leaves from time to time, in search of a familiar face and when the requests of other customers drifted to their ears, they listened for accents and intonations. After about twenty minutes, Woody asserted he thought they'd made a clean escape. It made his companion smile and, for that, he was both grateful and encouraged.

They made small talk for the most part, light and inconsequential in content, but so much more in context. Awkwardness set in only as he drove her home, having insisted. As he pulled up to the curb, they both sat. Woody found the stretch of street in front of her building endlessly fascinating while Jordan studied her nails with the intensity of a cosmetology student hoping to pass the big exam.

"Um, Jordan-""Woody, you know-"

They both laughed, constricted, tense sounds. He continued his scrutiny of the pavement and she hers of her nails.

"You go ahead-""Why don't you-"

Another laugh, a little more relaxed this time. They looked over at each other, uneasy smiles spreading across both their faces.

"Maybe we should draw straws," Woody suggested.

Now Jordan's laughter was more comfortable, the footing less treacherous between them. "Or you could come up for some coffee or something."

"You sure?"

She nodded. "Seems like we both have a few things we need to get out in the open."

"It's just – I don't want to make your day any worse."

She gave him a lop-sided smile. "That doesn't sound promising."

"No, I mean – I think we have a lot to talk about and – and maybe it could wait."

"Don't you think it's all waited long enough?" Her dark eyes glittered with held-in tears.

With a solemn nod, Woody opened the door, glancing over his shoulder as she did the same. He wasn't sure he was ready for this. Then again, if he waited until he was sure he was ready for this, he figured he'd be about eighty-three.

XXXXX

Woody shrugged out of his suit coat and loosened his tie. He watched Jordan avoid him and he let her. He _wanted_ to push her, to get a crowbar and snap the locks on her heart, but that approach had never worked – unless you counted getting shot and nearly dying as having "worked." So he took the tumbler of Scotch she offered and he sat next to her on the couch.

Jordan gulped her drink, letting it burn all the way down, hoping it would drown, or at least cauterize, the butterfly farm that had sprung up in her stomach. She'd been ready for this. Really ready. Before Woody showed up. She'd made a good show of it at dinner, but none of that had been real. This was real. This was the moment of reckoning. This was jumping off that cliff again and trusting he'd catch her. She took a deep breath.

And belched. Loudly.

For a moment Woody gaped at her while she returned his wide-eyed expression. Then, at the same moment, they both broke into peals of laughter. They both laughed until their sides ached. Jordan had tears running down her face and, with a wordless gesture toward the bathroom, she rushed out of the sitting area. When she returned, she was more composed, a grin tugging the corners of her mouth. She flopped down next to him, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

"You know _that_ clears up everything," Woody teased her.

She socked him on the arm. "This is supposed to be serious."

He held up his hands in self-defense. "I'm not the one who - who… and, by the way, that was impressive."

This time she rolled her eyes. "I mean it."

"I know." His tone softened and his eyes grew darker as he studied her. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly, rubbing the backs of her fingers with his thumb. He felt the tremors go through her. "You know what I think?"

"What?" It was a hoarse whisper. The gentle touch of his hand on hers had robbed her of any greater sound.

He leaned toward her. With his free hand, he drew her mouth close to his. "I think we don't need to talk, Jo."

"Woody-" The protest was half-hearted at best.

"I think if we talk, you'll talk yourself right out of this."

"Woody-" Her protest was even weaker.

He held her head so near to his, his lips almost on hers, yet teasingly withheld. She bit her lip to stifle the groan in her throat. "Here's the serious part, Jo. We know the best and worst of each other and we're still here. You've run from me; I've pushed you away and yet here we are – right where we've always belonged." He kissed her softly. "Together." He kissed her again, as softly as before. There was nothing fierce in the press of his mouth, but the passion was as unmistakable as his tenderness. His lips left hers and traveled slowly along the line of her jaw, up her neck to her ear. He whispered, "I want to know everything, Jo. I really do. I know you're still grieving your baby and I want to grieve with you. I want to explain my behavior and apologize for it a thousand times a day." He pulled her closer to him. "I love you."

She shuddered lightly. This time the moan escaped her lips unfought.

"I love you, Jo. And I want to make love to you."

Her hand, still held in his, flexed. She pulled away from him, her mouth seeking his. This time the kiss was fiery and greedy. The knowledge of how close they had come – in so many ways – to losing one another quickened both their pulses as much as the physical contact heated their blood. In a few minutes a trail of discarded clothing led to her bed. Woody stopped briefly, suddenly remembering what she'd experienced. "Is it okay? For you, I mean?"

She nodded. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

A smile – the beautiful one that spread across her whole face and lit up her eyes – graced him. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Despite her assurance and the ache in his own body and soul, Woody slowed down, wanting to savor the moment, wanting even more for her to savor it, to be able to look back and cherish it. His fingers trailed slowly, lightly along her collarbone, making her shiver with desire. One hand cupped her breast, while the other wandered back to her face. He drew her to him and kissed her deeply, letting his fingers tease the taut peak with gentle pressure and soft touches. She made tiny mewling sounds that nearly undid his resolve. He'd never known her to be so open, so vulnerable; he wanted to crawl into her soul and stay there.

Easily his mouth replaced his hand, making her gasp as sharp bolts of pleasure seared her body. She exhaled his name and reached for his free hand, seeking it as an anchorage against the storm of need he was calling up within her body. He held on to her tightly even as his actions intensified the waves of yearning washing over her, pulling her under into a world she'd never wanted to acknowledge existed. As he kissed his way down her belly, his free hand brushed softly against her thighs, making her tremble. She bucked as he drew a light touch over the small bundle of nerves at the apex of her core and cried out as he eased one finger into her heat. Slowly, gently, he nearly drove her mad as he caressed and kissed her body. Her pulse hammered and her breath came in fast, rapid gasps. Patiently, inexorably, Woody brought her closer and closer to release. At last, her body tensed; the pressure of her hand twined with his testified to the strength of the climax rippling through her. As she came down from that pinnacle, he laid soft kisses on her neck, moving to her jaw, her cheeks, her eyelids and finally to her mouth. After a long, languorous kiss that gave them each time and leisure to explore each other's mouth, Woody pulled away slightly. His lips barely touched hers when he murmured, "I love you."

He couldn't hear her response, but he felt her mouth move beneath his and it thrilled him almost more than actually hearing it could have. Silently, but honestly, she admitted her feelings for him. Without sound, she invited him into her heart and soul. She trusted he'd know what she'd said, that he'd understand and this time, her trust was well placed.

"Jo-" he started.

"Make love to me," she interrupted, her voice young, soft, innocent in a way he'd never heard before. "Please."

XXXXX

Woody kissed the dark crown of hair as Jordan lay cradled in his arms. The normal sleepy lull he usually felt after sex was utterly absent; being with her exhilarated him. She sighed contentedly, reaching for his hand, weaving his fingers with hers once more. Her voice was soft in the dark. "You're right."

He looked down, mock surprise glittering in his eyes. "Since when?"

She chuckled. "When you said I would have talked myself out of this."

"Ah." He ran his tongue over his lips. "Do you – um – wish you had? Talked yourself out of it?"

She looked up at him, her eyes the color of warm honey. She shook her head. "Not at all."

"You sure?"

His answer was the pressure of her lips against his collarbone. Then she freed her hand from his and skimmed both sets of fingers over his skin. Her mouth followed suit, and Woody was convinced her touches scorched his flesh. She moved, sliding from beneath the sheet to straddle him. She grinned down at him, her hair framing her face.

"Jordan, I don't think I can-"

She laid a finger against his lips. "Don't think." And then she made it impossible for him to recall that he even had a brain while also proving to him that what had seemed like mere minutes to him had seemed like hours to his body, for he wanted her again with a fierceness even stronger than before. Even as he climaxed he wondered if he would ever be able to get enough of her – making love to her, holding her, unearthing all the secrets that made her who she was. He hoped to have a lifetime to find out the answer to that question.

XXXXX

She lay collapsed on top of him, her body draped over his in a pleasant state of exhaustion while his hand rubbed her back gently. From time to time, they kissed lightly, quickly. As the night deepened around them, Woody broached the subject uppermost in his mind – well, almost uppermost. "You loved him."

The hiss of her indrawn breath told him he didn't need to clarify. "I – I – don't know. Maybe. In a way." She looked down into his eyes. "I _wanted_ to love him."

"You were having his baby." The rawness in Woody's voice took them both by surprise.

Jordan's brow furrowed. "I was having _my_ baby." She scrutinized his eyes, noting the tense set of his mouth. A flicker of memory went through her. "When you found out… you almost asked me something."

All he could do was nod.

"Did I ever wish…Did I ever wish she'd been yours?"

"Jordan, I'm sorry, that was… I had no right…." He swallowed heavily.

"Was that it, Woody? Was it?" Tears had sprung up in her eyes.

Slowly, he bobbed his head. Another painful swallow. "I'm sorry. It's – I just – My first thought when I saw your sonogram was that it was really over - you and me - that we'd – we'd never have a chance. I thought how if I hadn't said what I said, hadn't done what I did with the whole Riggs thing – maybe that baby would have been mine – ours."

A small, sad smile crept across her mouth. "But she wasn't. And she wasn't for a reason."

"A reason?"

Jordan rolled off him, snuggling next to him, relishing the feel of his arms around her despite the solemnity of their conversation – or maybe because of it. "You hurt me."

"I know, I know, Jordan. I'm-"

"Just listen, okay?" She laid a hand on his shoulder. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of her request. "For a while I walked around in a daze, like a different person. I did the thing that was – is – the most difficult thing for me to do: I admitted I loved and needed someone. And then that someone said it didn't matter. What's more, he backed it up with his actions." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Woody, I did a lot of – of things I shouldn't have – got you in more tight places than I care to think about, but I never manipulated you the way you did to me with Riggs."

"Do you know how much I regret that?"

"I hope at least as much as I do," was her terse response. "No, seriously, that was almost – no, it was worse than when you were in the hospital. I felt a lot like the 'old' Jordan – the one who sometimes didn't even know the name of the guy she was in bed with, the one who didn't let anyone in her heart. Emotionally, that's how I felt. Then, Pollack came along. I – I didn't expect there to be anything there." She bit her lip. "There was a night and-" she snorted. "It's kind of ironic, I found out the 'old' Jordan was pretty much gone; I hated myself in the morning, figured that was the end." She shook her head. "The thing is – he got it, got the trust issues, the fears and he wanted more than I'd imagined. I couldn't believe he was willing to wait, but he did."

"So why's he in Sydney?"

Jordan shrugged. "It's where he belongs. Just like this is where I belong. He – He helped me and Kathleen did the rest." She gulped several deep breaths. "When I first came back – when he stayed – I _knew_ it was over with you. Too much had happened and not happened. Then I found out I was pregnant and I found out how much I _wanted_ her." She stopped for a few minutes, tears trickling down her face. Woody cradled her, smoothing her hair, gently brushing the tears from her cheeks. He found his own throat tight. At last, she nodded, more to convince herself she could go on than anything else. "When I lost her… I was sure God was punishing me. But Paul told me that, as trite as it sounds, there was a plan. I figured it out today"

"What?" His voice was humble, a bit awe-struck by this side of her.

"Kathleen left a hole in my life, but, even though I never really saw her, never held her in my arms, I gained much more than I lost by loving her." She looked up at him. "I realized after seeing you this morning that if there was ever a second chance for us, I'd take it."

"_Second_ chance, Jo?" His eyes sparkled.

"All right," she laughed back. "Fifth, sixth, maybe."

XXXXX

The calendar wove itself through the rest of summer, into fall, through another cold winter and into a soft spring. There were arguments over cases, fights over personality issues, steps forward and backward, but most of all there was love. For the first time since she was a little girl, Jordan felt happy. She felt safe with Woody and cherished by him – things that Pollack would have given her, but she never could have reciprocated. After slightly more than a year, she couldn't recall exactly why it had taken her so long to let herself love him.

The morning of her birthday, she opened her eyes to the smell of coffee and cinnamon toast. She smiled. For a year, they'd shared the most trivial details of their pasts and their presents, finding that often those details weren't so trivial after all. Woody smiled at her as he handed her a mug and a plate. The piece of toast had a tiny candle stuck in it. Jordan's laughter made the flame dance.

"Make a wish," Woody told her.

She closed her eyes and waited, blowing out the candle after a moment.

"What'd you wish for?"

She took a bite of the toast. "It's bad luck to tell!"

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is," she insisted, laughing like a child.

He arched his eyebrows. "Please?"

She gave him a theatrical sigh. "All right." She made him wait while she tasted the coffee. "I didn't wish for anything."

His face fell and he stumbled over his words. "Wh- Why not?"

"Because," she replied, setting aside the toast and coffee and reaching for him. "There's nothing more I need."

He brushed her hair from her face. "Nothing?"

She shook her head, pursing her lips, ready to kiss him. The kiss was long and slow, filled with a patience borne of security and love. His hands slid down her body as he did his best to remind her there would always be a few things she would need, if he had anything to say about it.

After, they lay entwined, her head resting on his shoulder, his fingers tangling in her dark curls. He kissed her forehead. "I made a wish."

She raised her eyes to his. "You did?"

He nodded.

"What did you wish for?"

He traced a finger down her cheek. "Besides making love to you?"

She blushed.

He stretched toward the stand at "his" side of her bed and tugged open the drawer. She couldn't see what he gathered to him, but she had her suspicions. Keeping his hand tightly closed, he looked into her honey eyes. "I wished that you'd accept this, this time around." She watched as his fist uncurled to reveal the velvet box she recalled all too well. His eyes darted nervously. "Well?"

Her eyes fixed on his, she smiled.

And nodded.

END


End file.
